Layla

"Well, miz Thorpe, I'm afraid I cannot offer you a position here."

My dreams of cashing in my first real pay cheque in months suddenly careened off of a cliff. I blinked, certain I had misheard the weaselly man in front of me. "Pardon?"

Mr Carlson adjusted his hair, causing his toupee to fall ever so slightly askew over his forehead. "We cannot take you on as an employee."

"It's a shopgirl position." I said slowly. "I can manage it."

Not that I thought being a shopgirl was an easy position, far from it. How people deal with the unbearable public for more than an hour at a time, I would never know, but right now I was desperate. I was in my thirties, surely I couldn't be turned down for a job at the local bloody shop. My pride could never survive such a rejection. It was already hanging on by a thread after being turned down by the local pub, the local chippie, and the local cafe. If they wouldn't take me, nobody would.

Throughout this current interview Mr Carlson had been eating out of my palm and laughing it up with me as if we were best of mates. I couldn't understand his sudden switch up. To be quite honest, the several thousand minimum wage jobs I had applied for in the past few weeks consisted of an interview that followed the same pattern as this one. Interviewers found my faux charm delightful, gave me false hope, and then rejected me for no apparent reason. Mr Carlson was about to tip me over a ledge if he continued on this path.

"Can you?" He subtly attempted to reposition his toupee as he peered down at me over his sharp nose. "You have not one single reference who can confirm as much."

"I told you I worked in a shop before--"

"When you were sixteen... what have you been doing since then? A fifteen year stretch of unemployment does not look good."

"Well I wasn't exactly "employed" per say, but I was--"

"Are you a mother?"

"Maybe..." I narrowed my eyes suspiciously, "why?"

"I would understand why you, a woman, would have left the workforce to raise a child, and are now eager to make your triumphant return." He gestured about the dinky little shop, "Here at Carlson's Corner Shop."

You need this job Layla. Lie. Invent a fake family, he'll never know!

"No I am not a mother! I just haven't been a cog in the capitalistic machine for the past fifteen years!" I exclaimed defensively, "The work I have done can't be measured by references!"

At the time I thought my longwinded ramble that ensued was quite inspiring, but when I retold the story to my friends later that night in the pub... I sounded like a right silly git.

"And you didn't get the job?" Nina gasped theatrically, "How?"

Spencer chuckled sympathetically when I dramatically lay my head against his shoulder. "You'll be alright, Layla."

"I won't be alright! I'm a mess!"

"She's right." Elijah stirred his flowery drink, "She's a mess."

"Oi." I grunted and nudged him with my foot. "Only I can say that."

"You mope about all day," Eli totted up on his fingers, "The only time you get changed out of your pyjamas is to go to interviews. Then when you don't get hired you come home and drink all my wine-- and you always smell of takeaway chicken tikka because you won't even cook for yourself any more--"

"You have all the tact of a bloody boot." Nina interrupted Eli before he could hang me further. "We've all been stuck in a rough patch before, don't shame Lula for it.

"Shouldn't Archibald be putting a pep in your step?" Elijah waggled a brow, ignoring Nina's scolding completely.

"Actually..." Nina frowned my way as if something important finally dawned on her, "Where's your drummer?"

"Huh?" I spluttered, rather blindsided by her question. "My who?"

"Roger, where's he been? You two were in each other's pockets all summer." Nina decided to share with the group. "There was a lot less moping."

"Ah... so he was the pep in your step." Elijah murmured, "Or the limp-- I don't know what he's capable of--"

"Oh will you shut up!" Spencer snapped and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"We weren't shagging! It wasn't like that!"

"Oh she's adorable." Elijah stage whispered and I tossed a paper coaster his way. "She thinks they can be friends."

"Men and women can be friends, Eli." Spencer said slowly as if his brother were thick, which he was.

"Of course they can, but one of them always wants to shag the other." He replied, "It's science...probably."

"Was he dropped as a child?" Nina whispered loudly in Spencer's direction.

"Drop kicked." Spencer muttered which caused me to burst out laughing. Elijah proceeded to curse everyone out before he abruptly left his seat and stalked towards the bar.

"Now that he's gone..." Nina chuckled and scooted herself in closer to me, "What's really going on with you and Roots?"

I cringed at the nickname I had drunkenly confided in Nina one night, "Roots can be a real arse sometimes."

"So can you, give me a better reason."

"He lied about our friendship to the mother of his child." I toyed with a stray beer mat, "And, as I said, he's just been a real arse lately. He was a prick to Spence, and a massive prick to Archie."

Spencer remained silent but it was rather obvious he had an opinion or two ready to be launched if given an opening.

"I don't like this new character trait of yours." Nina wagged her finger in my direction.

"What character trait?" I grumbled before taking a swig of wine.

"Dropping and picking up people on a whim."

"I don't do that." I cast a glance Spencer's way and gave him an innocent swat of my lashes, "Do I?"

"Of course you don't, Layla." Spence murmured in a tone that suggested he was treating me like a wild horse that may bolt at any moment.

"You don't ever truly open up. You refuse to let new people into your life, and invent daft reasons to justify it."

"Roots— Roger— is a twat! Spencer, tell her—"

"— leave him out of this, he's just going to agree with whatever you say—"

"Exactly!"

Before Nina and I's bickering could descend any further into more immature depths, I caught sight of Archie awkwardly making his way through the dingy bar. I did invite him out this evening but I never expected for him to actually show.

"Hide me!" I squeaked, "I look awful!"

"Layla he's seen you, you can't just hide."

"Lipstick? Nina, lipstick me!"

"Stop flirting with me, Archie will get upset." Nina tossed a smile his way, "Hello, Archie."

"Hello, all."

Archie started his series of greetings by firmly shaking Spencer's hand. Spence seemed to be the only one who could strike up and hold a conversation with Archie for an extended period of time, so I tried to put them together at all times. Nina and Eli struggled with him but at least Nina tried her best to keep me from noticing the awkwardness that sometimes ensued when he joined our fray. Of course I thought it was important that my friends were able to gel with the man I was seeing, but it wasn't a dealbreaker.

A week's worth of salt and pepper stubble was now littering Archie's jaw and aristocratic cheeks, and his hair was in its usual "mad scientist" state of disarray.  He placed a tame kiss on my cheek and gently patted my hand which lay upon the table.

Before I could say a word, Elijah had rushed back to annoy Archie and I, "What's up Doc?"

Archie blinked, "Hello."

"You look like you were up all night partying." Eli forced himself in between us.

"No." Archie shook his head, "I was up correcting papers--"

"-- that's crazy."

"Shut up, Eli." I whacked his chest, "At least he has a job."

"Because you can talk."

"Oh no," Archie turned towards me, "Did the interview not go well?"

"Everyone wants references nowadays." I muttered rather childishly as if that were something completely unreasonable.

Nina sighed, "I keep telling her to show all the work she's done with photography--"

"-- they consider that a hobby; not a job."

Archie pursed his lips as if he wanted to dispute that, but couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, I received a sympathetic pat to the hand.

Nina squinted at him before returning her gaze to mine, "Any of those interviewers would die if they found out half of their favourite album covers were photographed by you."

"What does that have to do with working in a shop?"

"Exactly! Forget shopping! Get back to photography-- or for the love of god get back into painting."

"Yes!" Spencer piped in immediately, "Layla, you need to bring Archie to Dublin-- show him your masterpiece."

"Surely she doesn't need to bring him all the way to Dublin to show him that?" Elijah smiled sweetly.

Before I could murder his brother in a room full of witnesses, Spencer declared that he was cutting Elijah off and that they were going home. Archie didn't catch the double entendre so he simply eyed our group with confusion.

I couldn't help but wonder when the rose tint was going to ebb from Archie's vision and he was going to see me for what I truly was: a has been artist with no prospects, who has nothing better to do on weeknights than go out drinking with  friends. He was good at hiding it, but as someone who was also raised in the upper echelon of English society, I could see that Archie's stiff lip twitched with distaste around Eli.

I was just waiting for that lip to twitch in my direction.

****

My peaceful (depressingly unemployed) Sunday, was ruined by a surprise visit from my ex.

Hugh was handsome in that annoyingly obvious way. Like if someone were to say he wasn't attractive they would be incorrect because he simply was. It was an objective fact, not a subjective opinion, and he bloody well knew it. So whilst he looked like a million dollars in his dove grey suit, I looked like an oxidised penny in my pyjamas.

"Layla," Hugh leant in the doorway and flashed me a fond smile, "Mind if I come in?"

"Well," I angled myself to block out the entrance, "Eli's here, and it's his flat..."

"And he can't stand me?" Hugh offered but brushed past me to continue on through the doorway anyway, "I'll only be a few minutes."

I refused to offer the man a cup of tea, even when it went against everything I ever believed in. Instead I silently joined him in the kitchenette where he placed his cardboard box down on the messy table. He glanced at me expectantly, clearly waiting for me to offer him a cuppa but I turned my gaze towards the box instead. No kettles boiling in this building.

"What do you want?

"Charming."

"What do you want?" I repeated.

"I just wanted to drop off the last of your things." Hugh tapped the box, "And I have a surprise."

"Surprise?" I echoed and casually took a few steps towards him.

"Mhm." He hummed, "A nice surprise, I promise."

I nudged past him to rifle through the meagre contents of the box but my gaze immediately honed in on the stack of papers near the surface.

My chest inexplicably tightened, "Is this..."

"Our divorce papers." Hugh flashed me a grin, "Signed and delivered."

"You signed them?" I echoed and plucked the papers up for a closer look, "Why-- why now? You dragged this all out for years, and now you've signed them?"

Hugh's grin faltered and a frown slowly pinched across his brow, "What's wrong? I thought you'd be delighted."

"I am." I shook my head, "I am. I just don't understand your change of heart."

"What does it matter?" Hugh shrugged dismissively, "You're free of me now."

I quickly flicked through the hefty stack of papers just to make sure that this was indeed the real deal. My eyes snagged on the page outlining how our assets would be divided because that was certainly new. We had previously agreed that I would keep my own money (which was long gone by now) and that he would keep his own earnings. Everyone in my life thought I was mad not to shaft him out of his money after what he did to me, but I simply didn't want anything from him. All I wanted was a clean break but he wouldn't give me that. Until now... apparently.

"What's this new page?"

"I had my solicitor sneak it in for you."

"For me?"

"Mhm," Hugh smiled again, "Thought I would sweeten the deal. You can have your own solicitors look over it all before we send them off to the courts, but I think you'll be happy."

Hugh was under no obligation to give me money, we had no children, once we were split there was nothing to tie us together. Why on earth was he trying to give me money now? Whatever his solicitor slipped in, it entitled me to half of everything Hugh had.

"That's kind of you," I managed to get out despite of my burning pride, "But I don't want your money. Your signature is all I ever wanted."

He rolled his eyes, immediately impatient, "Are we really going to do this whole dance, I won't find it improper if you take the money without declining it several times first."

I sifted through the box once again, taking note of the various cassette tapes and articles of clothing. My brow furrowed when I plucked up a rather preppy Laura Ashley button-up vest that was at least one size smaller than anything I had ever owned. It was so obviously not mine that I wanted to laugh.

"I don't want your money." I repeated, "I want to know why you gave in."

My skin crawled when I beheld the pity plastered across Hugh's visage. He reached out and briefly ran his fingers over my shoulder as if to console me, "Well, I suppose you were going to find out eventually... probably best that you hear it from me."

"Hear what from you?"

"I'm engaged."

My knee-jerk reaction was to croak out a disbelieving laugh but it got caught in my throat in the process. "What? Why?"

Hugh had been through at least two women in my time living with him, all while trying to get me back into bed with him-- so when the fuck did he have time to get a fiancé? And they say men can't multitask.

"Her name's Danielle."

"And?"

"She's pregnant."

My heart seemed to collapse into my stomach, "You idiot."

"Her family's traditional-- I want to do right by her."

I should have been celebrating the fact that after years of battling Hugh for this divorce he had finally conceded but instead I was furious. Yet again, Hugh had put another woman before me. He only scribbled his signature on a document that had been sitting in his desk for three years because it now suited him... because he had gotten a girl pregnant and now needed to marry her. He was instantly getting a new family whilst I was left alone with nothing but insecurity to keep me warm at night.

"Get out."

"Oh Layla..." he pouted, "Don't be like this, we can talk--"

"Get. Out!"

Sympathy turned to rage quite quickly, "You're the one who left me! You can't act shitty with me now that I have moved on!"

I was far too angry for words so in response, I balled up the tiny button up vest and threw it at him.

"You're crazy!"  He exclaimed and acted as though one of the buttons had caught him in the eye when the top had landed on his head.

"I'll show you crazy if you don't leave right now!"

I'm glad Hugh turned on his heel to leave at that moment because I didn't really know how I was going to follow through on my threat. Of course he couldn't leave me with the last word because he decided to leave me with a treat to think on when he left.

"I wanted to give you money because I felt sorry for you. You're in your thirties and sleeping on the floor of your fellow failure, Elijah bloody Dalton's floor." Hugh hissed, "It's about time you grew up, Layla!"

With that the door slammed hard enough for the flimsy walls of the flat to rattle. And with that death knell, my dramatic downward spiral well and truly began.

***

"Alright."

Elijah startled me awake by collapsing down beside me on the too-small futon in the middle of his living room. I groaned loudly when he cuddled himself into my side, and made a feeble attempt to push him away.

"You're going for a walk."

"No. Walk."

"Yes. Walk." Eli murmured, "You have been rotting away in here for days, and while it inspired me to sketch a lovely little piece that I have called--"

"--do not insult me in French right now."

Eli lifted his brows, "I wasn't going to?"

"Yes, you were."

"Maybe I was," he agreed with a grin and dragged himself to his feet and strode over to shove the curtains open, "I am having a dinner party tonight, and I need the stink of you out of this room."

"Can't I just hide in your room?"

"Oh honey, you won't want to be in there later." He ripped my blanket off, "Unless you would?"

"Pig!" I grumbled as he attempted to pull me to my feet.

"Go have a shower, go for a walk, then come home and have another shower-- because what is going on with your hair-- and then get ready to be my lovely co-host."

I didn't want to be sociable tonight, but I suppose I could at least go for a solitary shower and solitary walk. A spinster should get used to being alone.

"And apologise to Archie!" He called after me as I slunk towards the bathroom.

I may have started a stupid argument with Archie a few days ago. I called him, during office hours, when a fellow professor answered his phone. A female professor. All the recent drama with Hugh had replaced my current brain with that of a freshly cheated on, insecure twenty year old, and I lost my head with Archie. Accused him of all sorts. I was so embarrassed that I couldn't bring myself to apologise just yet.

I was definitely going to use up all of Eli's hot water for his comments. How dare he not support my moping and attend my self-pity party. At least Nina would have been a little nicer when she told me to cop on, I was not in a state to receive tough love right now. I needed to be coddled!

After scrubbing my scalp until my fingers ached, I stepped out of the shower and threw on an absolutely awful velour tracksuit that Eli had bought me as a joke last year. My hair was still damp and unbrushed when I wandered outside but I no longer cared about my appearance. If I felt as thought I had hit rock bottom on the inside I was now prepared to show it on the outside.

This was now the real me.

As I wandered aimlessly down the road, I tried to make the most of the fresh air but I much preferred the stale air of Eli's living room. I fished about in my pockets for my cassette player and groaned aloud when I discovered that my earphones were in a tight tangle. When everything's going wrong, it's the little things that really set you off. Which is why I found myself fighting off a sniffle when I couldn't immediately untie the knots.

Eventually, Don Henley's voice rasped in my ear and all was good in the world.

Well, baby, there you stand, with your little head down in your hand.

I could have skipped the song, I should have skipped it, but of course I didn't. I wanted to feel even more sorry for myself (if that was even possible) and music was the best way to invoke such emotions.

Oh my God, you can't believe it's happening again. Your baby's gone, and you're all alone, and it looks like the end.

"Whatever, Don." I muttered to myself like a lunatic and continued trudging down the street. I glanced at the sky, hoping that it would rain to really add to the ambiance but unfortunately the sun was bloody splitting the stones.

You don't care much for a stranger's touch, but you can't hold your man.

I scoffed aloud as if I were being personally victimised by the Eagles. My breaths steadily became sharper and I worried my week in isolation had made me so unfit that I couldn't even take a walk around the corner.

You never thought you'd be alone this far down the line, and I know what's been on your mind... you're afraid it's all been wasted time.

The tears came hard and fast after that. Ugly, messy, sloppy tears. People stepped on the road to avoid getting too close to me, and that only seemed to make me cry a little harder.

You didn't love the boy too much. No, no, you just loved the boy too well. Farewell.

One of the buds fell from my ears and a hopeless moan escaped me as I fumbled about to place it back in again. Why is everything so bloody hard!? A series of stuttering sobs ensued and I turned on my heel, ready to crawl back home.

"Layla?"

I suppose I should be grateful that the universe didn't decide to push Roger Taylor on me in that moment. No, it provided me with the next best thing: Freddie Mercury. Because who wouldn't want to be seen by a major celebrity when they are having a massive breakdown?

"No?" I sniffed and raised my arm to wipe at my dripping nose.

Freddie Mercury was peering out at me from the back window of his big, fuck off, Roll's Royce like I was a peculiar exhibit at a zoo. Which at that moment, I may very well have been.

I know that I should have been flattered that he even remembered my face but in that particular moment I wished he didn't. "What's wrong, are you okay?"

"Yes?" I want to melt into a puddle, Dalí style, and be absorbed by the pavement below.

He quirked a small grin my way, "Well, that's simply not true is it?"

"No?" I whimpered pathetically.

Freddie's eyes widened with horror, "C'mon," He pulled away from the window, "Get in."

I blinked like a deer caught in his headlights. He had been nice to me for the five minutes we talked at Eli's exhibit, but I didn't expect his politeness to extend this far. I was certain that he didn't actually want me to get into his car, it was just a chivalrous offer that he deeply wanted me to decline. He knew Roger and I were friendly and he was simply being friendly for his sake.

"I can't, but thank you." I attempted to flash him a demure smile but failed miserably.

I thought that would be that, but Freddie decided to go completely off the unwritten social script, "Why can't you?"

I blinked again. " What?"

"Why can't you get in?"

Surely the whole 'don't get in a car with strangers' rule didn't apply to Freddie Mercury but still... he was practically a stranger. There was no need for him to be so nice. He was a celebrity who should be off doing celebrity things, not dallying with common riffraff!

"I just..." I struggled to find the words, "You don't have to be nice with me because of Roger."

"Fine, I won't be nice if that's what you want." Freddie shrugged dismissively, "You look awful and I want you to get in so that you might get a hold of yourself."

My chin trembled because I couldn't believe Freddie Mercury had spoken to me like that. When I asked him to.

"Oh for fuck-- Layla, darling, please just get in."

With that I reached for the door handle. Freddie Mercury inelegantly shuffled over to the other side, and attempted to drag his bags of shopping along with him. I plopped myself in beside him and sank back down into the luxurious leather. Freddie was decked out in a red addidas tracksuit, which somehow managed to look fashionable on him but I looked like a slob sitting across from him in my own leisurewear.

"We can sit in silence until you pull yourself together, and then you can be on your way." His finger's drummed restlessly along his knee, "Or you could prattle on to me if you think it would help."

"Do you pick up every teary eyed stranger you meet?"

"We aren't strangers."

"We met once."

Freddie flicked his hand as if to shoo away my words, "Oh what does it matter, I know you, you know me, we aren't strangers."

We eyed each other silently for a moment, he was expecting me to argue with him some more, but instead I pursed my lips and scrubbed at my now thoroughly dehydrated eyes. Even with Freddie's offer to stew in silence, he didn't let the quiet overwhelm us for too long.

"I'm sure he'll phone you back."

"What?"

"Roger. He can come across as a bit of an asshole, but he's a lovable one, really--"

"That's not--"

"Mind you, his temper is a little quick to spark, so if he's said anything stupid he probably didn't mean it--"

"I don't--"

"I admit I thought you were a more clever from our discussion at the gallery but I get it, we all fall for a pretty face every now and then--" he cut himself off with a gasp as his big brown eyes meaningfully dropped to my velour clad stomach, "Oh, Layla, please tell me he hasn't--"

"Don't you dare even insinuate--"

"No wonder you're so upset--"

"--I am not pregnant!" I hissed, "And if I was, it wouldn't be Roger's!"

I noticed the brief speak of mischief that flirted across his gaze and it became very obvious he was winding me up to get at the truth, and it bloody worked. But I was too irritated to care about him winning at that moment.

"No, my ass of an ex husband knocked up some girl and that is what prompted him to sign our divorce papers. Four years, four years I have waited for him to fucking cop on and pick up a pen for all he's done to me, but no..."

I don't know how long I ranted and raved for but I was breathless by the end of it. Not only had I called Hugh every name under the sun, I ended up on a tangent about my jobless life. Whether it was to a brick wall or a living human, I needed to get some things off of my chest and unfortunately for Freddie he ended up being the target. His silent driver in the front also got quite the earful.

Though, sometimes it really was best to speak to a stranger. I love my friends, but they know me too well and have too many opinions for me to ever express myself freely. When I attempted to explain why I wasn't exactly thrilled about the circumstances of the divorce being cleared, they assumed I still had lingering feelings for Hugh when that couldn't have been any further from the case. Whenever I brought up the difficulties of unemployment they offered help with funds when what I truly toiled with was a battered pride.

The long and short of it all was that I felt as though my life should be a lot more established than it was right now.

Freddie was once again gazing at me like I was a peculiar attraction but this time at a circus. By now he must have realised that he had invited a madwoman into his car. Hopefully his driver doubled as a bodyguard because I would not be offended if her tossed me out on the pavement in my current state.

"You know," Freddie eventually mused, "I was a late bloomer myself."

"Huh?"

"Career wise." He clarified, "I was around thirty when Bohemian Rhapsody came out-- which feels like a lifetime ago now."

"You can't seriously be comparing us." I felt insulted on his behalf, "You're you."

"I'm sure we have plenty in common." He smiled, "I assume you also have some sort of art-related degree under your belt... probably not in graphic design, mind you, because you real artists turn your nose up at graphic designers--"

A small laugh escaped me, "Yes, I do have a degree from a stuffy art college."

"Mhm," Freddie hummed with an amused smile, "And I am also going to assume the degree was fu-bloody useless and you only did it because everyone else was off to college."

I slowly nodded. Was I getting career advice from Freddie Mercury? It seemed like I was about to get career advice from Freddie Mercury.

"I can tell you now, Queen bled money for years. Everyone else had a proper career and degree to fall back on if it all went sour. I didn't, not really, so I worked and worked until we managed to produce cream." He explained, "But I'm not going to sit here and tell you all it takes is determination and raw talent to succeed in creative fields, because from what Roger has told me you have fistfuls of both."

A twinge of guilt thrummed through me at that. I had been complaining about Roger whenever he was brought up, but there he was bigging me up in front of his bloody rockstar friends.

"We all need a dash of pure luck, not that we like to admit it. And that's what you seem to be in short supply of right now, Layla." Freddie let his voice drop to a conspiratorial whisper, "And if you ever need help fabricating some luck, a connection here, a conversation there, make use of Roger. Or me, when you decide we aren't strangers."

"I suppose I can't accuse you of being a stranger anymore." My cheeks heated with chagrin, "Not after I blabbed my entire life story to you."

"That's not your entire life story." He flashed me a playful grin, "And next time I catch you crying, they'll be tears of joy because your latest work is hanging in the Tate or Whitechapel and you'll be shagging someone devine-- hopefully someone with a much more attractive name." He paused thoughtfully, "I mean really, Hugh? Sounds like someone who wears sock stays in the bedroom."

Despite of myself I laughed, and didn't ruin his pep talk by mentioning Archie-- whose name was a great source of comedy amongst my friends... and who may have worn sock stays.

Instead I thanked him with an awkward handshake and apologised for taking up so much of his time. Freddie seemed exasperated by my formality and manners, gave me a polite kiss on the cheek, told me to stop being so bloody ridiculous and sent me on my way. When we parted he warned me to make nice with Roger (even when I didn't mention our recent arguments) because he was a useless lump in the studio lately and that was that.

I wandered back to Elijah's flat feeling a lot better than I did when I set off. Of course my impromptu therapy session with a rockstar wasn't a miracle cure for my recent melancholy but the bizarreness of it did bring a small smile to my face.  I wasn't about to burst into tears again because of a pair of tangled up earphones and that's all that mattered. Breakdown successfully managed.

Thoughts of Hugh and impending loneliness slowly faded, only to be replaced by a sense of guilt once again. Nina had accurately stated that I no longer let anyone get close to me and seized at any opportunity to keep them at arm's length. My fight with Archie, and recent string of arguments with Roger were proof of that.

During my attempts to doll myself up for Eli's party, I made the decision to knock back some liquid courage and return one of Roger's intentionally missed phone calls.

___

Thanks to anyone who managed to get to the end of this chapter hahah. ❤️